


happier

by editingatwork



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: AU, M/M, Marriage, Reconciliation, Separation, Tidying Up with Kent Parson, sparking joy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 23:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17692784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/editingatwork/pseuds/editingatwork
Summary: Kent sucks on his lip. “The cleaning guru says you should only keep things that ‘spark joy.’ That’s what she called it.”Joy. Alexei doesn’t know what the fuck that is, anymore. “Have to get my things," he says, moving past Kent and down the hall to the bedroom. Their bedroom. Kent’s bedroom. Four walls and a queen-sized bed. “Good luck clean.”





	happier

Alexei realizes, one night in the middle of brushing his teeth, that Kent doesn’t call him “babe” anymore.

When did that stop?

Alexei counts the days. After five, he worries. After ten, his chest aches.

After seventeen, he lies awake in bed next to his husband and wonders if they’re falling apart. If they already have.

He realizes he can’t recall the last time he called Kent  _golubka_  and it’s like a star collapsing in his chest. His ribs are caving into a black hole.

He watches Kent over coffee the next morning and wonders if Kent has noticed they’re falling apart, too.

\--

New Years brings friends and champagne and Alexei watching Kent from across the room all night, trying to figure out when they stopped orbiting each other like moons and became asteroids. They don’t find each other in crowds like they used to. Kent doesn’t reach for him when they’re near; doesn’t touch Alexei’s arm to get his attention, doesn’t put a hand on his back to guide him, doesn’t nudge their shoulders together until Alexei smiles and relents and wraps an arm around him.

The New Year comes. They almost don’t find each other in time to kiss, and when they do, Kent doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

Alexei never expected his heart to break after he’d already said “I do.”

\--

Kent doesn’t  _want_  to talk, is the problem. He deflects everything:  _“There’s nothing to talk about.” “You can’t fix it.” “Just let it_ go _, Alexei.”_

Everything is broken and Kent won’t even tell him where the cracks are, where they began.

Alexei finds an apartment across town. The term is “separated” but as far as Alexei is concerned, it’s just a pre-requisite to divorce. If this really is the end, Kent can keep the house. Alexei doesn’t want to live in a place filled to the brim with the deafening echo of memories.

\--

Three months into their “separation” and two days into Alexei’s search for a divorce lawyer, he stops by the house (not  _their_ house, just  _the_ house) for the last of his spring wardrobe and stops dead in the living room.

Every inch of every piece of furniture is  _covered_  in Kent’s clothes. Piles and piles of it.

Kent walks in with another armful. He stumbles to a stop when he sees Alexei. “Oh. I didn’t know you were...”

Alexei gestures to the mess and makes an expression of profound incredulity.

Kent turns splotchy-pink with embarrassment, his gaze skittering over the chaos. “I’m cleaning.”

“You don’t clean,” Alexei says dumbly, and then winces, because—it’s an old joke, older than their wedding bands, that Kent can’t keep a closet organized to save his life.

It’s a joke that’s part of a life with Kent that Alexei doesn’t have anymore.

Kent walks past him and drops the armful of clothes onto an arm of the sofa. “I’m still using the Netflix account. There’s this new show about cleaning.” He surveys the disaster; he doesn’t look at Alexei. “Guess I got inspired.”

“It doesn’t look like clean,” Alexei replies. The constant disarray that Kent leaves in his wake has always been a small sore point between them, something they’d argue about intensely on bad days and fondly on good days. There are no days of any kind between them anymore. Alexei isn’t sure if this mess is making his heart ache with nostalgia, or giving him hives.

“There’s a method,” Kent says. “Step one is sorting through all your clothes. You’re supposed to put everything in one pile so you can see how much you have.” A small sliver of a smile slides over Kent’s face like a flicker of sunlight, there and then gone. “I’ve got a lot.”

Alexei could have told him that. “How you know what keep?”

Kent sucks on his lip. “The cleaning guru says you should only keep things that ‘spark joy.’ That’s what she called it.”

Joy. Alexei doesn’t know what the fuck that is, anymore. “Have to get my things,” he says, moving past Kent and down the hall to the bedroom. Their bedroom. Kent’s bedroom. Four walls and a queen-sized bed. “Good luck clean.”

Ten minutes later, when Alexei leaves, Kent is sitting quietly on the floor, going through his clothes piece by piece. As Alexei watches, Kent picks up a souvenir t-shirt from their cruise to Alaska three years ago and holds it to his chest. After a moment, Kent whispers, “Thank you,” and puts the t-shirt aside into a pile.

It could be the pile for ‘keep.’ But from the way Kent’s fingers linger on it and then force themselves away, Alexei thinks it’s probably bound for the trash.

He carries his clothes and his aching heart out to the car and leaves.

\--

Alexei finds a good divorce lawyer. Kent accepts without a fight. Days go by and Kent accepts everything without a fight. There’s no haggling over division of assets. It’s like Kent doesn’t care what parts of Alexei he gets to keep. Like he just wants to give every last bit of Alexei away.

It makes Alexei so mad that he ends one of their meetings with the lawyer by yelling at Kent. 

“You always say this. ‘Sure.’ ‘Fine.’ ‘I don’t care.’ Is money, is car, is stocks—what the fuck you mean, don’t care? Maybe I just take everything, you don’t care!”

Kent shrugs from his armchair. His eyes are on the floor. “Sure. Take it.”

The lawyer sighs. “Kent—”

“Fuck you!” Alexei shouts, and storms out. People avoid him in the hallway, all the way to the elevator. In the parking lot, he sits in his car and fumes. He wants Kent to fight, if not for them, then at least for himself.

He wipes tears from his eyes before they can fall. Love, it turns out, is harder to get rid of than a marriage.

\--

Kent texts a week later, asking him to stop by the house. When Alexei comes—warily, let it be known—there’s a box waiting for him in the foyer. It’s taped up and has his name on it, but no explanation of its contents.

Alexei finds Kent continuing his cleaning binge in the living room. This time, the floor is covered in magazines and books.

“What’s in box?” he demands.

“Documents. Step two of the cleaning program,” Kent replies. He’s sitting perpendicular to Alexei, a clear view of him in profile. Kent is gorgeous from all directions, but especially in profile, when the light and shadows sharpen his cheekbones and highlight the biteable jut of his Adam’s apple. It makes Alexei think of their wedding night. And the next morning. And their honeymoon.

“Step two is books?” Alexei asks.

“Paper, technically,” Kent replies. “Books are part of it.” He hasn’t made eye contact with Alexei in weeks, but he makes it now. “The documents were easy because it’s just things in your name, but... a lot of these are yours.” He gestures to the myriad piles. “I thought...you might want to...go through them yourself.”

Division of assets. So casual, like it’s easy. Alexei wants to kick him. “Can’t just put them in box?”

“I didn’t know which ones you wanted to keep.”

“Just give me all, can do myself.”

Kent opens his mouth, makes the beginning of a sound—and then bites it off. Looks away. Stares tight-lipped at the books, wanting something but refusing to tell Alexei  _what_.

Alexei can hate him at the same time as love him. “Fine. I look.” He sits on the floor as far from Kent as he can be while still within reach of most of the books. 

They sort through the books in almost dead silence. Alexei keeps hearing Kent murmur his thanks to the books he doesn’t keep.

(”It’s part of the process,” Kent had explained. “You thank items for their service before you get rid of them.”)

It’s uncomfortable. It hurts.

Kent will thank books for spending their life with him, but not Alexei.

After an hour, they’re finished. Alexei has a much smaller pile of books than he’d planned, although he feels wholly certain of his commitment to each one.

Kent’s pile of books is even smaller. When Alexei goes to the bedroom for a box to put his books in, he sees trash bags full of clothes that Kent hasn’t gotten rid of yet. It’s more than he expected Kent to give away. Seeing it makes Alexei feel... scared. How much of them, of himself, of  _everything_ , is Kent trying to give away? It’s like Kent is cleaning out not just their home, but himself.

Alexei packs up his books and carries them to his car. Kent follows, carrying the documents.

“Thanks,” Kent says. “For coming over. For helping.”

Alexei looks at him. Tries to find something to say. Everything he wants to say is too late. Nothing he can say will stop the inevitable, not if Kent won’t fight for it, too.

_I miss you. I love you._

Alexei wants to kiss him. Hold him again. He’s so tired of falling asleep alone in cold sheets.

“No problem,” Alexei says. He gets in his car and drives away.

\--

Their divorce lawyer and Alexei try to get Kent to set concrete numbers for what he wants out of the settlement. Kent ignores them both and carries on cleaning, sending Alexei photos of dishes and household tools and linens and Halloween decorations and keeps asking,  _Do you want this? Does it spark joy?_

Alexei comes to hate that phrase.

He keeps having to come over to sort items and collect things. It’s like living at the house again, like living at  _home_ , and Kent acts like it’s normal while their divorce lawyer is on Alexei’s fucking  _speed dial_  and Alexei is quickly sick of it.

“Fuck, Kent, I don’t  _care_ ,” he spits one day, when Kent drags him back to the house to look at the pile of household toiletries spread out on the kitchen counters. “You’re always ask me, ‘Does it spark joy?’ What you fucking think?! I’m getting  _divorce_!” he yells, and it’s good they don’t live in that tiny apartment in Boston anymore, because his voice could shake the walls. “You want go through our  _whole life_  piece by piece, pick everything up and say ‘thank you’ when throwing away, throwing away our  _life,_  our  _home,_ and don’t even tell me  _why_  you’re doing!”

Kent’s expression is blank. He looks fragile. “It’s just what they did on the show—”

“Not why cleaning, why you—” Alexei’s throat closes. “Why you  _leave me_.”

Kent swallows. “I didn’t—I’m here.”

“You not here. We both know. Same bed but you so far away. You not here and I ask you why, so many times, why you go,  _where_  you go, but you don’t talk to me. You’re never talk to me. Just say ‘You can’t fix it.’ Don’t let me—don’t let me try. Just want you  _talk_  to me. Please.”

Kent’s face is ashen. “Alexei...I...”

Alexei waits, but Kent doesn’t finish.

How can loving someone hurt this much?

Alexei twists off his wedding ring. He clutches it in his hand. He remembers their first date, their first night together, their first apartment, Kent’s proposal, their wedding, their first dance. He remembers holding Kent on the dance floor and aching with love, aching with joy at the miracle of having him forever.

He holds the ring and aches with the misery of not knowing where he went wrong. But if this is what Kent _wants_ , Alexei won’t deny him.

He kisses the ring. “Thank you.” He puts it on the counter and turns around, heading for the door.

Kent doesn’t call him back.

\--

A week later, Alexei has the divorce papers in his hands. It doesn’t feel real.

He signs them anyway.

At midnight, Alexei’s phone vibrates right off his bedside table. Groaning, he rolls over and feels around the floor until he finds it.

Five missed calls from Kent, one after the other.

Alexei texts,  _what._

**_Please come home._ **

Alexei tries to call but Kent doesn’t pick up.

**_I’m sorry. Please just come home._ **

Alexei is out the door in minutes.

\--

Alexei’s key still works. The house is quiet, dark. The only light is a pale lamp in the living room. It illuminates Kent, sitting among an assortment of dusty boxes from the attic. His shoulders are hunched and his face is in his hands.

“Kent, what’s--”

“I got scared,” Kent whispers hoarsely. “I should have told you, but I just—I didn’t know how to...”

Alexei pushes the nearest box aside and sits next to Kent. The boxes have labels like  _Christmas_  and  _wedding_  and  _anniversary._  Their wedding photo album is open in front of Kent. The prominent picture features them feeding each other cake, as messily as they can. Frosting sticks to their noses and lips and they’re laughing.

“I’m sorry,” Kent says into his hands. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

“Kent, what’s wrong?” Gently, Alexei touches his shoulders, and finds them shaking. He nudges Kent to face him, although Kent doesn’t look up. “Kent, talk to me. What happen?”

“You said you wanted kids.”

Alexei is gobsmacked. “I’m say? When I’m say?”

“New Hampshire. Our anniversary.” Kent shudders, still hiding his face, and leans forward until his forehead is pressed to Alexei’s collarbone. “We had dinner and then we went back to the room, and I made you come  _twice_ —”

“I remember.” God, does he ever.

“—and I think... I think it was the wine, but before you went to sleep, you said... ‘We should have little boy and girl, just like you. Husband perfect, children perfect.’” Kent huffs a watery laugh. “Then you passed out.”

Alexei... very, very vaguely recalls that. “You don’t ever say.”

“I panicked.”

Alexei does the math. “...You panic for  _ten months?”_

“I’m sorry,” Kent repeats. “I can’t keep shit together, you’ve seen me. I’m a mess. Remember how shocked you were that I started cleaning? I thought—I thought if we kept moving forward, someday you’d just... have had enough. Of me.” Kent’s breath comes fast and quick.

Alexei gathers him up, wraps him tightly in his arms, not even hesitating. It’s instinct. “That’s why you clean?”

“Maybe at first. It just made things worse, though.”

“Why you don’t _talk to me_?” Alexei asks. “Ten fucking _months_ , why you don’t—”

“I got scared. I’m sorry.”

Alexei squeezes him so hard that Kent grunts. “Have to _talk_ to me. You not alone in this fucking marriage, here, is me too. You thinking I leave you because of mess, have to ask me if is true. Because it’s not. If you don’t want kids, have to say. ”

Kent shakes his head against Alexei’s shirt. “No, I...”

Alexei waits.

Kent spits it out. “I think... a girl and a boy wouldn’t be so bad.”

Alexei loves this idiot so goddamn much. He wants to yell at him for putting them both through this shit, and kiss him until he’s gasping for air. He wants to drop Kent’s ass like yesterday’s news, and take his last breath curled up with him in the same nursing home bed when they’re ninety.

How can he be so angry with someone and still love him more than he ever has in his life?

“Please don’t leave me,” Kent whispers, hands balling up Alexei’s shirt hard enough to leave wrinkles.

“Not leave you, _golubka._ Never leave you.”

A sob hitches in Kent’s throat, shakes his body. “You left your wedding ring.”

“You get rid of so much,” Alexei says. “You clean out everything. I’m think... shouldn’t make you keep _us_ if it’s not...spark joy.” He really, really hates that phrase.

Kent sniffs. He’s making Alexei’s shirt wet with tears. “You’re the most joy I’ve ever had.”

Alexei hides his face in Kent’s hair. “You more joy than I’m ever think I get.” He’s crying, too. He wants to put them back together. He’s not sure they can, after this, after almost a year of Kent hiding his fears and letting their marriage nearly dissolve instead of expressing himself, but Alexei wants to try. He’s never felt so much about anything like he feels all-encompassingly for Kent.

“You such idiot,” Alexei murmurs. “So much idiot. Hate you so fucking much, make me feel so much shit. Going to make you clean whole house every day for rest of life, to making this up to me.”

Kent snorts wetly. It’s gross.

“You sign papers?” Alexei asks.

Kent swallows. “No. You?”

“Do yesterday. Will shred today,” he replies, and rubs Kent’s back to soothe him. “I want give you everything, _golubka_ , even divorce, if you need.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

 _You do_. “Don’t have to deserve. Just _talk to me._ Conversation is spark joy, okay?”

Kent laughs and hugs him tighter. “I missed you so much. Please come home.”

“Already here,” Alexei reassures him. “Promise I stay.”

\--

 Alexei’s clothes are back in the closet, his toiletries in the bathroom, his briefcase and laptop returned to their place in the study. Kent insists on re-sorting everything in the house, clothes and linens and dishes and all.

His reasoning is that the circumstances of his joy have changed.

“Mostly I was just getting rid of anything that hurt too much,” Kent admits while they’re going through their respective mountains of clothes. They’re both working in the living room. Kent says it’s for moral support, but Alexei thinks it’s just so Kent can watch him grind his teeth over painstakingly holding each pair of underwear and asking himself if it “sparks joy.”

Alexei ‘thanks’ a pair of silky boxers that look sexy but always give him a wedgie, and grumbles at the grin on Kent’s face. “Is stupid.”

“It’s Shinto,” Kent replies. “Everything’s got a spirit, babe, and you gotta acknowledge it.”

“If there ghost in my boxers, I don’t want talk to him.”

Kent laughs himself sick.

“If we have kids,” Alexei starts, and watches Kent carefully for a reaction. “You do this with them?”

It's a sticky topic. Kent still thinks he’d be a terrible father, despite his desire to be one, and he still fears that his failure as a parent would ruin their marriage worse than his silence nearly did. But at least he’s acknowledging it, and talking about it.

Kent takes a deep breath. “I mean. Yeah, I guess. I’d like to.” He meets Alexei’s gaze. “I think it would teach them to appreciate what they’ve got.”

Alexei nods. “I think so, too.” He reaches for Kent’s hand and squeezes it gently. “Good to learn what’s important for you.”

Kent blushes, looking down, but he’s smiling. He squeezes Alexei’s hand. “Yeah. Gotta hang onto what sparks joy.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have not been around in a while. Extra commute, longer work hours, and two cats will do that to a person.  
> This story is not precisely what I wanted out of it, but I wanted it published more than I wanted it perfect.  
> I'm still vaguely on [tumblr](http://punmasterkentparson.tumblr.com/), though.


End file.
